The water was like ice. He strangled as a wave struck him in the face just as his head came to the surface. He caught a glimpse of a dark red mass of cloth a dozen yards at his left; it seemed rapidly to be taking on the color of the water round it. Kicking with all his might, he struck out toward it, swinging his arms with short, quick strokes. Everything was confusion--air, sky, water. A great weight seemed to be pressing against his chest. Then one foot struck something hard. In an instant he had turned and plunged downward. All was water now, black, cold and sinister. His fingers closed on something soft--it might be seaweed. He struggled upward. His lungs seemed on the point of bursting. Upward, upward--then a rush of air and light. A bundle of sodden red cloth came up beside him. “Grab the wharf!” someone shouted. But Don did not hear. He took a stroke with his free hand, and at that moment a length of heavy rope whipped down across his arm. Seizing it, he held on. Then he saw that the tide had carried him and his burden against the piling of the next wharf. “Hold him a moment longer,” said a voice, and then three red-faced sailors lowered themselves like monkeys, and two of them lifted the soldier out of the water. The third caught Don by the back of his shirt and pulled him upward. On the splintery planks of the wharf, Don blinked his eyes and looked about him. A group of men were carrying the Redcoat into a warehouse. “How do you feel, my lad?” asked the sailor who had pulled Don from the water. “C-C-Cold.” “That’s right, stand up. You did a plucky thing. Too bad the fellow was a Redcoat.” “Is--is he alive?” “Oh, yes; he’ll stand parade to-morrow all right. I’m sorry for that. How I hate ’em!” Don caught a glimpse of Tom Bullard entering the warehouse. Then a low, plaintive cry sounded behind him, and, looking over the edge of the wharf, he saw his terrier in the water. “My pup!” exclaimed Don. “Get him somebody, please!” A good-sized group of persons had gathered round the boy by that time, and the sailor and two other men hastened to rescue the dog. Once on the wharf, the terrier ran to his young master and began to leap up on him. “Get the boy to a warm place,” said a lanky fisherman and grasped Don by one arm. The sailor who had pulled him from the water placed himself on the other side, and together the three of them started down the street at a rapid pace. Soon Don felt a warm glow all over his body; nevertheless his teeth were chattering, and with each puff of strong wind he shivered. “Wish it had been old Gage instead of a common Redcoat,” the sailor was saying. “Same here,” replied his companion. “You’d have pushed him under when you pulled the lad out, wouldn’t you, Hank?” “You’re right, I would have done just that.”